One step, and the tide stays quiet

Luheng walks where the sea gives up its edge. The ground is damp, smooth from retreating waves. Light pools around his feet, thin as glass. Above him, the sky opens without effort—soft blue deepening toward the unseen sun. Nothing interrupts it.

The figure is casual, coat loose, gaze turned down. His movement is measured, not slow but deliberate, like someone listening to their own rhythm. The line of the horizon stays fixed behind him, steady as breath.

What remains isn’t distance but space. The photograph feels weightless, like memory seen through water. Every part of it suggests quiet—steps without sound, air without wind, a walk that continues beyond the frame.